 Family Theater presents Jeanette MacDonald. From Hollywood, the Mutual Network in Cooperation with Family Theater presents Cass Wiggum's Rookie. And now to introduce the drama, here is your hostess, Jeanette MacDonald. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Family Theater's only purpose is to bring to everyone's attention a practice that must become an important part of our lives, if we are to win peace for ourselves, peace for our families, and peace for the world. Family Theater urges you to pray, pray together as a family. And now to our drama, Cass Wiggum's Rookie. I'm known to all baseball fans as Wild Bill Wiley and I'm the manager of the Hornets in the American League. Early in April we stop off at Little Rock on our way east for a game with a local club. During batting practice I'm shooting the breeze with a bunch of the newspaper boys who've been assigned to cover the Hornets spring training. With me is Jimmy Clark, 11 years now the team star catcher. A college grad and a guy as smart as Moe Berg ever was. Moe could get away with murder with the umps because he always cussed him out in Latin and ancient Greek. Jimmy uses Sanskrit and Hindustani. One of the pencil pushers, Jack Ford of the Courier Independent is a fast guy with a needle. And I've already got a red neck by the time Maybe you can take this one today, Bill. The Little Rock skipper tells me he's going to start his second stringer. Go fry an egg, Ford. Maybe we haven't looked so good so far, but I'm running this ball club for the owners and not for a newspaper punk like you. I'm bringing it along slow. So we've all observed. You think you'll have it out of low and in a second by Labor Day? Skip it, Bill. Mr. Ford is merely inferring that the fans of the Courier Independent who droolingly digest his daily peerless journalistic efforts are anxiously awaiting his assurance that the Hornets will be able to suit up on opening day. He can tell them anything he wants. What do you want, kid? Not a graph? No, sir, Mr. Wiley. Least ways an autograph isn't what I come to see you about special like. All right, all right. What is it? Well, I was kind of hoping maybe you'd give me a chance to pitch for the Hornets. What experience you had? Well, I've been pitching now for three years for the team in my hometown that's Chipotlepec. I mean, what professional experience you had? What league you ever play in? Well, I reckon I never played in no league. Sometimes we play the teams in Blow Gord and QB Center and Dabneyville. What? First I got to talk with a wiser and I'm a reporter and then it's a hick that wants to jump from the semi-pros of the big time. Come on, Jimmy. Let's get away from here before I blow a gasket. Yeah, I'll be with you in a minute, Bill. Uh, my name's Jack Ford and I'm a baseball reporter for the Courier Independent. What's your name, son? It's last cashiest to come see Wiggins, but everybody calls me Cass. Yeah, I can see why. I'm very happy to meet you, Cass. There's just a chance I might be able to help you. No fooling, Mr. Ford. You mean help me to get to pitch for the Hornets? I can't promise, but you never can tell. Where's this place you live? Well, here's Chipotlepec. It's west of here, over on Fresco Railroad that runs from Monette, Missouri to Paris, Texas. With your good looks, I imagine you're quite a hand with the ladies, huh, Cass? Oh, chuck it, Mr. Ford. Cut it out, Jack. You're not funny. How about it, Cass? Just got me one gal, Mr. Ford. Her name's Effie Sue Abernathy. Her and me, we're fixing to get ourselves married. I got her picture with me right here, right here in the back of my turnip. See? Well, that's a mighty romantic thing, Cass, carrying your sweetheart's picture in the back of your watch. Chuck it, Mr. Ford. Effie Sue's the prettiest and the sweetest and the smartest gal in the whole of Chipotlepec. I bet she is. Well, Cass, I'll see what I can do for you. Just as I said, I can't promise anything, but I'll try. Chucking, Mr. Ford, nobody couldn't hardly ask for no more than that. I'm sure proud I got to pump you, Paul. I'm glad to meet you, Cass. See you later. Yes, sir. I sure hope so. When you're the star picture of the Hornets, I'll write you up in my column. Your idea of humor is a weird and wonderful thing, Jack. It's also cruel. What was the idea given that yokel, such a build-up? Tell me, my boy, you never know when something or somebody may be good for a gag. Jack Ford. He's the baseball reporter for the Courier Independent newspaper said he'd sure try to get me on the Hornets. Well, you don't reckon he was just a funnin' with you, do you, Cass? Oh, shuckings. No, Effie Sue. Well, just the same. I'd feel better if Mr. Wiley let you show him how you can hit a knothole in a fence 18 times out of 20 with a baseball. Don't you fret yourself, nun, honey. That'll come later. When Mr. Ford gets new talkin' with Mr. Wiley, I'll bet a pewter dollar again the crackin' a tiny teacup. The Hornets will be runnin' after me to join up with him. Look, Effie Sue, it's here. I told you, Mr. Ford, to do it. Look, it's a telegram. Well, what's it sayin'? Well, listen to this. Mr. Laskash is T'Cupsey Wiggins, Chapultepec, Arkansas. Please report to the Hornets at Briggs Stadium in Detroit at once. Salary open. We'll discuss it upon your arrival. Hurry as we need you badly. Wild Bill Wiley, manager of the Hornets. Oh, I hate that. Wonderful. Well, I eat for sure, Kaz. Huh? How come Mr. Wiley needs you so bad if he ain't never seen your pitch? Well, Mr. Ford must've told him about me. But just how does Mr. Ford know how you can hit a knothole 18 times out of 20 with a baseball? Effie Sue, don't you want me to join up with the Hornets? Of course I do, Kaz. But somehow it seems like I can smell a polecat at the pie supper. I'd hate it the worst way if something was to hurt you, like, like if you used to find out you'd played the fool. Oh, Effie Sue. Just the same. Don't go to see Mr. Wiley till the team's at St. Louis. That way the bus fare back to Chapultepec won't be so much if it comes out. Somebody's been puttin' the big britches on ya. Now get the guys started, will ya, Jimmy? Not that it'll do any good the way this gang of snake killers been hitin'. All righty, Mr. Wiley. I got you telegram, and I like to bust it to hamstring gettin' here fast as it could. I'm raring to go. I didn't send it. Wait a minute, Bill. Is that kid a tried to talk to you back in Little Rock? Huh? Uh, let me have that telegram, Cass, and go over by the batting cage for a couple of minutes, will ya? Why, sure. Just call me when you're needin' me. Hey, what is this, a gag? I think so. Look at this telegram. Well, I never sent that. Of course you didn't, Bill. But I'm certain Jack Ford did. He gave this kid an awful ribbing in Little Rock, and practically told him his influence with you would get him on the team. I'll have him both tossed out of the park. So that Jack can have a good laugh at your expense? The courier independent has several thousand readers every day, Bill. So what do I do? So go along with the gag. Let this Wiggins kid pitch batting practice. When Jack sees him out on the hill, he won't know what's happened. He'll be like the joker who gave away the wrong cigar and lit the one that was loaded. See, that's an idea, Jimmy. This apple knock has been playin' semi-pros, so he can probably at least get him over the plate. And I'll catch him. Okay. And what'd you say his name was? Wiggins. Cass Wiggins. Ah, come here, Wiggins. Yes, Miss Wiley. You don't need to fret yourself none about wages, since you see how good I can do. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. How'd you like to pitch batting practice so I can sorta look you over? Yes, sir. In a hornet's uniform? Sure. And can I have my picture took to send back home? There wasn't nobody in Chipotle to pack took any stock in you really wantin' me. Poetic justice would seem to indicate a photographer from the courier independent, Bill. This gets better and better, Jimmy. Sure, you can have your picture taken, Cass, by a real newspaper photographer. Oh, gosh. Now let's go over to the clubhouse now and get you suited up. You want to look good and snappy on that picture you're gonna send back home? Cass here wants to know if his effort's met with your approval. He did okay, kid. Now go take a shower for yourself. Then you can sit in one of the boxes and watch the game. Now let him sit on the bench in uniform, will ya, Belle? The player limit isn't in effect yet, and he's earned it. Okay. You can sit with the players, Wiggins. Gosh. I sure do thank you, Mr. Wiley, and you too, Mr. Cork. Jimmy, the boys look better today than I have for a month. They were taking their cuts, and they weren't missing. You can thank young Wiggins for that. He wasn't that bad. He was that good. What? I had him throwing to the fellow's strength, not their weakness. High and inside to Fullerton, low and wide to Chris Marino, so on, right down the line. But the thing about it is, Bill, he never missed by more than two inches where I sickled him to put the ball. He's got as nearly perfect control as any picture I ever handled. His fastball looks sharp, too. Three out of five had hopped. I wonder if he's got anything else. I don't know, but it's barely possible. He may not need anything else. When Dizzy Dean came up to the cards from Houston, all he had was a high fast one and control. Yeah, yeah. We're talking like a couple of saps. Do you mean nobody? I mean nobody makes the hop straight from semi-pro to the big leagues. Ah, you're undoubtedly right, Bill. But what a study in Scarlett Jack Ford's face would be the first time he had to write, The winning pitcher for the Hornets was their sensational rookie, Cass Wiggins, the pride of Chipotlepec Arkansas. We won that afternoon. The sound of our bats against the horse hide was sweet music as the boys shook off their slump and Comed Ned Garver and Tommy Byrne for 14 hits. The final score was 8-1, as Bill McIntyre held the brownies to five singles. After the game, Jimmy Clark asked me, What happens now to this Wiggins' youngster, Bill? Oh, I suppose I'll give him train fare back to where he came from. He's got the picture of himself in a Hornets uniform. Bill, we just finished a little team conference. Yeah? Yeah. Fellows were hoping you'd let him go along with us. They figured he's a talisman and antidote to the whammy. You know how superstitious ballplayers are. I don't think there was one who realized I had Cass pitching to their strength this afternoon. But they teed off on him, so they figured that any time he's tossing batting practice, they'll have their slugging clothes on. Yeah, but maybe the next time he'll be wilder than a Kansas cyclone. I don't think so, Bill. My personal opinion is that he's one of those naturals that show up about once in 10,000. Say, do you think you can make a big league picture out of him? I don't know, but I'd like to try. We could get in an hour or so of practice, in the mornings. He, uh, he could room with me, too. What? You, a loner, the only player on the team who rates a room to himself, and you're willing to double up with a no-zark hillbilly who probably travels with nothing but an extra celluloid collar tucked in beside his guitar. Say, what is the honest dope behind all this, Jimmy? Well, all right. I don't like Jack Ford. In fact, I detest him. He's a common must-aligned mammal of the genus Myphytus. Huh? That's a polite way of calling him a skunk. Oh. He unjustly needles you and the team in his column. The way he treated young Wiggins and Little Rock was a crying shame. I don't like why his guys are practical jokers, and I'd give $1,000 to see him get his hot foot in reverse in spades. That's all. That's enough. The kid stays with the Hornets, and he's all yours. Well, we go along for about a month that a better than 750 clip, and the boys are liking Cass Wiggins better all the time. Jimmy Clark works with him every day, teaching him stuff it took Jimmy himself 11 years to learn. And then it happened. Victor Rico, my star left, he comes up with his saury wings, so sore he couldn't break a pane of glass. And we're going into Fenway Park for a four-game series with the Red Sox. I'm tearing out what little hair I've got left when Jimmy Clark makes a suggestion. Bill, I can't guarantee it, but I'm almost sure that Cass is ready to go. How's his hook? Improving a little. He's still no timey bridges. Can I lose, Jimmy? One ball game? I'll never hear the last of it, he does the kite act. You'll never hear the last of it if he comes through? Okay. I'll start Jerry today and Sandy tomorrow. That'll bring the kid up on Friday. And do me one favor, Bill. Don't tell him he's going to go until we get out to the park on Friday. I wish I could tell you the kid was sensational in his first big league game, the way it always is in the stories. But no, he was in trouble from the first inning on. And nothing saved him except the way Jimmy Clark handled him. But we won three to two. And that night in their hotel room after an early movie. I just read a letter to a Miguel back home in Chipotle to pack Mr. Clark. Would you maybe read it and see if it sounds all right? All right, if you want me to. And by the way, Cass, my name is Jimmy. That Mr. Clark business makes me feel as though I were ready for the Voluntary Retired List. Okay, Jimmy. Here it is. Ah, let's see. Dear Effie Sue, I win my first... The proper word is one, Cass. Well, how come? Didn't I win it? I've always contended that the Gromerians were too inflexible in their rules. Let's skip it. I'm sure your sweetheart will know what you mean. Oh, sure she will. See, today I win my first big league ball game, but I will win many more. You know Las Cassias Tecumseh, better known as Cass Wiggins. Ha, ha. Maybe I will never lose one. I was afraid of that, Cass. Come on, Jimmy. It's known as a sudden increased convexity of the cranium. Oh, what's that? There's some day I'll translate it for you into Americanese. It's an insidious disease, and I only hope your attack is a mild one. By the skin of his teeth and the help of Jimmy Clark, Cass wins two more close ones before we return home for a stand against the Western Clouds. Most of the married fellas have apartments for their wives and families, but the single fellas usually stay in hotels and eat out. The first night we're back, the kid tries a beanweed that's just around the corner from the Courier Independent Building. Your check's 89 cents, sir. Yes, and here's a dollar bill. Here's your change. 11 cents. Uh, let me have one of them seagars, please, ma'am. One of them goodens right there, and 10 centers. Yes, sir. Here you are, sir. Us pitchers for the hornets don't never smoke them cheap seagars. Are you a pitcher for the hornets? Yes, I'm a sure-am. What's your name? I mean, it's Cass Wiggins. Oh, I've heard of you. Gee, I wonder if you let me have your autograph. Oh, sure. Write it here, will you? My name's, uh, Jeannie Mills. Say, uh, uh, I was wondering, Miss Mills, I mean, uh, I was hoping, well, I was thinking, it'd be nice if we could, uh, go see a movie sometime. I mean, I mean together. Well, I never go with somebody I don't know, Mr. Wiggins. Particularly, uh, well, it seems like we did have a real introduction, though. I get off tonight at 8.30. Oh, I didn't mean, I didn't mean tonight. Uh, some other night, Miss Mills. I'll be back. I'll be seeing you again. Hi, Jeannie. Good evening, Mr. Ford. Say, guess who was in here about a half hour ago? Farley Granger. No. It was just George. No. It was Cass Wiggins, that new pitcher for the Hornets. And, uh, he asked me for a date. Uh, you're not exactly overpaid for working in this glorified chew and choke joint, are you, Jeannie? I'll say I'm not. A little fast extra money wouldn't be unwelcome, would it? What do you think? What are you through tonight? 8 o'clock. I'll see you then. I got a little deal in mind that you should be right up your alley. I start Cass against the Indians, and he's ahead three to two going into the ninth. Then, with Larry Dolby on first, he feeds Big Luke Easter a gopher ball. So that's the final score. Four to three favor Cleveland. After the boys have had their showers and dressed. Cass, you threw a high hard one to Easter when I signaled for a low outside pitch. It didn't get away from you, did it? No, sir. It didn't. You deliberately crossed me, didn't you? Yes, sir. Jeannie says a pitcher ought to know better than a catcher what to throw. Oh, who's Jeannie? Jeannie Mills. She's the cashier at the E-Lite Cafe where I go to eat most times. Where's the E-Lite Cafe? It's on Flower Street, right near 8th. Do you think now that this Jeannie Mills is right, that you know better than I what a batter can and can't hit? No, sir. Not now, I don't reckon I do. Well, then we'll forget it this time. If Wild Bill knew about it, it would be a month's pay. And remember this, Cass. A pitcher never crosses the man behind the plate. If he does, he's level at Terry's catcher's arm off at the elbow. Yes, sir. I'll remember. I got to tell you something, Jeannie. Jeannie and me, we're fixing to get ourselves married. Is something vaguely familiar in that statement, Cass? Could it be an echo? Oh, shuckings. Jeannie, don't roll hide me. Effie Sue was all right back in Chipotle, Peg. But not in the city? It ain't exactly that. Then what is it? Why? Now, don't answer me, Cass. I already know. Your cranial convexity is still increasing by leaps and bounds. Huh? Yeah, what's on your mind, Jimmy? Cass Wiggins, Bill. Huh? He's gotten involved with the cashier at some hash house on flower near eight. What? He says they're going to be married. Well, how about the little prairie flower back in Arkansas? I just wired her the money to fly here from Little Rock. What's the matter with the cashier? She's been advising him not to pay any attention to my signals. What? According to her, a smart pitcher like Cass knows better than I do what'll fool the batter. Why, that's stupid. I've got a sneaking hunch her theory's not an original one. What do you mean? The place where she works is just around the corner from the Courier Independent building. It's quite a coffee hangout for the boys who work on that rag. Jack Ford. He may be behind this and he may not. I intend to find out by going direct to Mr. Ford himself if he's wondering why I sent for you, Ms. Abernathy. Just call me Effie Sue, Mr. Clark. All right, Effie Sue. But I'm going to say to you is a simple statement of fact, not a boast. I'm the man who's worked night and day to teach Cass Wiggins enough about big league baseball to keep him here with the Hornets. Did you know that the telegram he received was a hoax, a fake? That it was not sent to him by Mr. Wiley, the manager of the Hornets? I always suspicion somebody was making game of him. It was sent by a newspaper reporter who warped sense of humor. I talked to this man earlier this evening and he admitted it under slight pressure. Was his name Mr. Jack Ford? It was. I figured it'd be. Cass bragged him up so big when he came back from Little Rock, but he sure done Cass a big favor sending for him like he'd done. He did and he didn't, Effie Sue. If Mr. Wiley had sent Cass back home which would have happened 990 times out of a thousand, the lad would have been the laughing stock at Chipotlepec. And as we planned to keep him for one day and let him pitch batting practice just to turn the tables on Jack Ford. Then my Cass ain't a good pitcher. He wasn't. He can be a great one. There's a cashier in a restaurant where Cass often eats. Jack Ford knows her and he bribed her to lead Cass on. She's been getting Cass to do things that'll ruin him as a ball player. And what's more, Cass tells me they're going to be married. What's her name and where's she live? I'm going to sue her for aleation of infections. Now wait a minute, Effie Sue. Just a minute. You'd have to actually be married to Cass to make that charge stand up. Yeah, but I could skir out of a year's growth. Just suppose and she was to think I was Mrs. Cass Wiggins. How could you do that, Effie Sue? Well, it'd make Cass look almighty low down. But according to your own tell he wouldn't be no lower than her. I can do it, Mr. Clark. And I can do it without telling Can I help you, Miss? I reckon not, thank you. I'm just looking for Cass Wiggins, but I don't seem in here. He comes in real often. Would you care to leave him a message? Thank you, that's right. Neighborly are you. Just tell him it's from Mrs. Cass Wiggins. Who? Who did you say? Mrs. Cass Wiggins. You mean you're his wife? Maybe I am. Maybe I ain't. But let me tell you this, Miss Genie Mills. You're going to take this pencil and this piece of paper and write what I tell you to write, or you'll sure be a find and out. Mr. Cass Wiggins, dear sir, I have found you out for what you are. Please never let me see you again. Yours truly, Miss Genie Mills. Oh, this is perfect, Effie Sue, but I still don't see how you got it. Well, I didn't tell a single solitary untruth, Mr. Clark. I sure would have, though, if Cass's Paul weren't named last Cassius the same as him. So, his Mars rightly, Mrs. Cass Wiggins. All right. Now, here's what we'll do. He'll pitch against Detroit day after tomorrow. You stay here till I come for you. I'll give Cass this note while we're suiting up. When he comes out to warm up, you'll see you sitting in the first row of the boxes right behind the Hornets dugout. So, you've seen what you might have gotten into, Cass. You're a mighty lucky man. Gosh, Jimmy, if I was a J-bird, I wouldn't have brains enough to fly backwards. Now, I probably lost my Effie Sue, too, because I ain't wrote to her since I don't know when. Well, maybe it's not that bad. Let's go, Cass. It's time to start warming up. Effie Sue. Effie Sue, it can't be you. When did you get here? What'd you come for? Oh, I just flew up in a big, airy plane to see Cass Wiggins win himself a ball game. Well, don't you go away after games over. I just got to talk to you. Well, if you want me to stay, you better do one thing, Cass Wiggins. You better show these Detroit Tigers how the cow at the cabbage. All right, shake it up, Cass. Well, don't you worry yourself, Nun Effie Sue. I'll whip them slap-sided. So, that's your Effie Sue, Cass. That's her. Ain't she as pretty as a speckled pup under a red wagon? I got to win this one today, Jimmy. You hold up a needle and I'll thread it. Okay, boy. And, Jimmy, what was that thing you said was wrong with me? Acute convexity of the cranium? Yeah, that was it. What's it mean? Well, it doesn't matter now, Cass. I'm not a doctor, but I'd say your recovery's complete. Ladies and gentlemen, here once again is Jeanette McDonald. Thank you, Tony LaFranco. Tonight, I'd like to take just a minute to offer my congratulations to Family Theatre. It has been just recently announced that Family Theatre has been made recipient of the coveted John Lester Award as Radio's foremost dramatic series for the season 1951 and 1952. In making this award, Mr. Lester based his selection upon the high moral tone, wholesomeness and superior entertainment value of the dramatic vehicles selected for broadcast as well as for the excellence of the performances of the casts. And so, to the mutual broadcasting system which makes these programs possible and to the Family Theatre staff, its producer, its director, its musicians and its technicians, I would like to extend my heartiest congratulations as representative of the many stars of stage, screen and radio who have appeared on the program to help advance the cause of family unity through family prayer. You know, when we think of family prayer, we quite properly visualize mothers, fathers and children gathered in their homes saying their prayers together in peace and harmony. When this is done, it brings a beautiful and rewarding experience to each day. Thousands of families in our country are restoring the old, time-tested custom of actually gathering together in prayer. Of course, we have to remember that many of our families are or will be scattered. But the important thing to remember is that, though separated, we need never grow apart. We need never have that sense of feeling alone in the world. There is a way to preserve the great value of family unity. Prayer can bring all of us together at some time each day. It will maintain the unity that comes from God's protection of families that speak their faith in Him through simple and humble prayer. Though we be at opposite ends of the earth, we're united and in this great and vital way, the family that prays together stays together. More things are brought by prayer than this world dreams of. Family Theatre by Jack Mitchell with music composed and conducted by Harry Zimmerman and the program was directed by Joseph F. Mansfield. We of Family Theatre are deeply grateful for having made the recipient of the John Lester Award. This series of Family Theatre broadcasts is made possible by the thousands of you who feel the need for this type of program by the mutual network which has responded to this need and by the hundreds of stars of stage, screen and radio who give so unselfishly their time and talent to appear on our Family Theatre stage. Welcome and to you, our humble thanks. This is Tony LaFranco expressing the wish of Family Theatre that the blessing of God may be upon you and your home and inviting you to join us next week when Family Theatre will present the visitors starring Jane Wyatt and Ward Bond. Join us, won't you? Throughout the world, it originates in the Hollywood studios of the world's largest network. This is the Mutual Broadcasting System.